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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470493">'cause you should know I'm about to break you hard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaptation/pseuds/omniocularz'>omniocularz (adaptation)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst and Porn, Dubious Consent, F/F, Hair-pulling, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, Knifeplay, Lesbian Eddie Kaspbrak, Lesbian Richie Tozier, Lesbian Sex, Menstrual Sex, Nipple Piercings, Object Penetration, Oral Sex, Patrick Hockstetter is His Own Warning, Pining, Rule 63, Sexual Manipulation, Shame, Slurs, Spanking, Underage Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:28:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,408</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470493</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaptation/pseuds/omniocularz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can't do this," Eddie says, but Richie can hear the waver in her voice as surely as she feels the thrum under her skin at the thought of Eddie stripping in her bedroom.</p><p>"I think I already am," Patrick replies, and pushes the tip of the knife into Richie's throat. There's a sharp pain, and a give, and then a wet feeling as a bead of blood slides down her neck and into the collar of her patterned button-up. "Take it off, or I'll give Tozier a nose job."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patrick Hockstetter/Eddie Kaspbrak, Patrick Hockstetter/Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patrick Hockstetter/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Rule 63 Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>'cause you should know I'm about to break you hard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/gifts">darlingargents</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>See end notes for a full list of content warnings.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patrick likes to sit on Richie's dresser when Richie goes down on her. It's never on the bed. In fact, Patrick seems to avoid the bed entirely unless she has Richie bent over it. Richie doesn't care, more focused on getting it over with whenever she shows up like this, with a dangerous glint in her eye and a sadistic smirk smeared across her face. Maybe she's even thankful, a little. The bed isn't for Patrick. Richie can keep the bed for herself and her fantasies.</p><p>She licks along the hood of Patrick's clit, fingers trailing the edges of her hole where her tampon string is dangling out. Patrick's slumped back against the wall, but she's watching Richie sharply, long, bony fingers fisted into Richie's hair to keep her where she wants her. Her skin is salt and musk on Richie's tongue. The low moan she makes when Richie gives a long lick, presses the tip of a finger against the edge of her opening, shivers through Richie like raindrop on a window pane before settling between her legs.</p><p>"You love licking me out, don't you, Trashmouth?" Patrick says. "You don't even like me, you just like having your face buried in cunt."</p><p>Richie's eyes close, shutting in the shame that rockets through her as she clamps her lips around Patrick's clit. Patrick's hips buck into her face, jarring against her nose, and Richie winces but doesn't pull back. She couldn't if she tried, with Patrick's hand so tight in her hair. She doesn't want this, doesn't want to want this, but it feels so good in the moment, even with the bright edge of terror that accompanies everything involving Patrick Hockstetter. </p><p>Just the thought of it makes her eyes crack open, flick to the front pocket of the ripped jeans Patrick had shed the moment she got here. The switchblade is tucked there, right where it's usually holstered, hasn't come out since the first time (only time) Richie tried to say no. </p><p>She still has the scar on her collarbone from where Patrick had cut her that day.</p><p>She feels her expression pull as she thinks of it, weasels the tip of her finger into Patrick alongside the tampon, and hopes her nail scratches. Patrick comes, body going eerily still and quiet aside from a rush of air from her lungs. Patrick never makes noise when she comes, never moves. It's fucking creepy, but Richie still gets a sick sense of satisfaction from it every time it happens. Even if she hates herself for it afterward.</p><p>She doesn't move her mouth until Patrick pulls her away, jerking her head back. Then she worms her fingers into her mouth, yanks her jaw open with one hand, uses the other to pull the tampon from between her legs and places it on Richie's tongue. First it's just cotton. Then it's copper and cunt.</p><p>Richie doesn't get a chance to spit it out. Patrick backhands her first, and the tampon goes flying out of her mouth and onto the carpet near the open door.</p><p>The open door where Eddie's standing.</p><p>"What the fuck?" Eddie says, her eyes flickering from Richie to Patrick and back again.</p><p>Neither of them say anything. Richie stares at Eddie, head swimming as all the blood in her body rushes to her toes, lungs constricting, pressure building in her tear ducts, and she can feel Patrick's malicious grin as much as she can feel her internal organs shutting down. Eddie's eyes finally settle on her, kneeling between Patrick's spread thighs, and it's only when Eddie's forehead starts to crinkle with something like—disgust? concern?—that Richie musters the ability to scramble backward. But Patrick grabs her hair again, this time hard at the front, near her bangs, and yanks viciously. Richie yelps, her clit throbbing traitorously. </p><p>Eddie reacts immediately, taking a step into the room, spitting, "Don't you touch her, you degenerate—" and then Patrick's got the switchblade out of her pocket, popped the knife out, and is holding it out toward Eddie. Eddie stops short, raises her hands like it's a gun and not a knife.</p><p>"Close the door," Patrick says, low and even, and Richie exhales a tear-shaky breath.</p><p>"Don't," she whispers, "leave her out of this," and Patrick snorts.</p><p>"What? You gonna cry now because your little girlfriend knows you're a dyke?" her lip curls, and Richie wants to snap that that doesn't even make sense, if they were girlfriends, of course she would know, but Patrick's got the knife out and Richie's cheekbone is still stinging from the slap, and she keeps her mouth shut instead, swallows hard and focuses on one of the drawer handles on her dresser.</p><p>Eddie shuts the door.</p><p>Her hair is thick and sleek, dark chestnut pulled into a bouncy ponytail. Richie wants to curl her forearm into it and pull, watch the delicate line of Eddie's throat as her head's yanked back, lick her way up and back down, into the collar of the little school jersey she wears as part of her lacrosse uniform. She's come straight from practice, like she always does on Mondays and Thursdays, because she hates showering in the locker rooms and she has to change before she goes home or her mom will know she's not actually at SAT prep.</p><p>"It's Tuesday," Richie says forlornly. </p><p>"We got rained out yesterday, remember? We rescheduled." Eddie doesn't sound particularly apologetic, just wary as she eyes Patrick and steps further into the room, toward Richie. Richie wants to inch away from her. Eddie can't get too close to her when she's like this, it'll rub off on her, make her a dirty, disgusting, desperate dyke like Richie, and she can't handle it, can't do that, not to Eddie.</p><p>The only saving grace in this situation is that Richie's fully clothed. Patrick had come in, shucked her pants, and demanded to be eaten out. Normally she likes Richie to at least be topless when she does that, so she can pinch at her nipples and make her whine. Sometimes, she bites.</p><p>She looks up at Patrick pleadingly, but knows it won't help. If anything, it's a stupid move, will make Patrick double down, but Eddie's already seen too much, she'll never look at Richie the same again, now she <i>knows</i>, she's seen Richie with Patrick's juices smeared on her jaw, and nothing will ever be the same again. But that's what Patrick lives for.</p><p>"You. Pipsqueak," Patrick says, like she doesn't know Eddie's name, "strip."</p><p>"No!" Richie interjects without thinking, surging up onto her knees, and Patrick handles it with another backhand, this time from the other side. Richie is knocked onto the floor with the force of it. From her periphery, she can see the blurry shape of Eddie moving to help her up, but Patrick holds the knife up again, a warning, and then pulls Richie up by the hair instead.</p><p>The knife settles under the hinge of Richie's jaw, like she might actually slit Richie's throat if she gets the urge. Richie's eyes squeeze shut behind her glasses, and she swallows, flooded with nerves and terror.</p><p>"You can't do this," Eddie says, but Richie can hear the waver in her voice as surely as she feels the thrum under her skin at the thought of Eddie stripping in her bedroom.</p><p>"I think I already am," Patrick replies, and pushes the tip of the knife into Richie's throat. There's a sharp pain, and a give, and then a wet feeling as a bead of blood slides down her neck and into the collar of her patterned button-up. "Take it off, or I'll give Tozier a nose job."</p><p>There's a shaky breath and then a rustle of fabric as Eddie starts to undress. Richie stares stubbornly up at Patrick, wanting to give Eddie the little bit of privacy she can, but Patrick grabs her by the jaw and forces her face Eddie's way. Their eyes meet just as Eddie drops her bright yellow lacrosse jersey to the floor.</p><p>She's seen Eddie in various states of undress before. Of course she has, they're best friends, they've had sleepovers more times than Richie can count, but she's never seen her naked, was sure she never would. Now that she's going to, she wishes she wasn't. Not like this.</p><p>Eddie reaches over her head and hooks her fingers under the band of her sports bra. Her eyes are wide and dark, and filled with something Richie can't identify, hasn't seen there before. Then the bra is gone, on the floor near her crumpled shirt. Eddie looks at the pile for a moment, and Richie can see her struggling with the desire to fold them. But Patrick interrupts: "Ditch your panties, leave the skirt on. It's hot."</p><p>There's a dark pleasure in Patrick's voice that makes Richie want to curl her fingers around her throat and squeeze, choke the life right out of her, but there's still a switchblade at her throat and Eddie's hiking up her dark red lacrosse skirt, sliding her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pushing them down over her hips. They catch a little on her knee-high socks, and Richie <i>throbs</i>. That fucking uniform, those goddamn socks, and the little skirt that's haunted Richie's dreams since Eddie joined the team back in January. Eddie's pert ass in that fucking skirt, and now she's kicked off her panties and she's naked under it, under the weird slippery fabric and she's so close Richie could touch her, could reach out and hook one hand behind her knee, slide it up under the hem, over her thigh, until—</p><p>Patrick's foot comes up and lands on Richie's shoulder, then shoves her back, hard. She falls onto her ass, arms splayed out behind her to keep her sort of upright. "Get on the bed, both of you. Kaspbrak, lay down."</p><p>Richie does as she's told, cheeks burning as she pointedly avoids Eddie's eyes. Eddie kneels onto the mattress, shifting in the unmade sheets as she arranges herself. Richie curls up at the far end, trying to keep her gangly giraffe limbs out of Eddie's space. Eddie stops when she's laying on her back, propped up on her elbows, her knees together and slightly bent. Richie can't help it when her eyes rake over Eddie. She looks wary and hesitant, but so sweet with her ponytail laying over her bare shoulder, her breasts soft and round and tipped with rosy pink nipples that have pebbled in the cool air. Richie wants to cup her mouth around one, kitten lick it with her tongue, hear the catch in Eddie's throat when she grazes it with her teeth.</p><p>But Eddie doesn't <i>want</i> this. When this was over, when Patrick was through ruining them, there would be nothing left to call a friendship. The others would blame Richie, and they would be right to. It would be her fault. She should have let Patrick kill her the first time.</p><p>Patrick slides off the dresser, still naked from the waist down, and slinks over to the bed. When she gets there, she kneels at the edge and holds up something in her non-knife-wielding hand, something small that glints in the light. Richie goes still when she recognizes one of the ball point sewing needles she'd stolen out of her mother's sewing kit to pin a poster to her corkboard.</p><p>The switchblade twirls between Patrick's fingers, a silent but flashy reminder to stay compliant. The thin line of blood on Richie's neck is starting to dry. Patrick moves the knife toward Eddie, and she stiffens, eyes widening with fear. Richie braces herself, ready to launch for Patrick's throat, but all Patrick does is use the blade to nudge a strand of dark hair off Eddie's forehead. "You ever thought about a piercing, Eddie?"</p><p>Eddie's brow furrows, eyes narrowing on the needle. "No. What the fuck, that's not even close to sanitary, you get away from me with that thing or I'll—"</p><p>"Or you'll what?" Patrick asks evenly. "Take a stab between the ribs instead?" She does put the knife between her teeth though, reveals a lighter she's tucked into her other palm. She strikes it, starts to bathe the needle in the flame. "So worried about germs for someone who hangs around such a filthy dyke all the time." </p><p>Richie's cheeks burn as Patrick holds the needle out to her. "Pierce her nipple, Tozier."</p><p>Richie hesitates. The needle is sharp and gleaming in the late afternoon light. She doesn't know when her parents will be home. This is taking too long, and Eddie's looking worriedly at her, her mouth drawn into a tight line across her face.</p><p>Patrick rolls her eyes. "Pierce her nipple or I'll pierce her clit."</p><p>Eddie, to her credit, doesn't release the whimper Richie's sure is creeping up her throat. Her only reaction is a slight stiffening in her already tight shoulders and a furrowing between her eyebrows. Under her skirt, her knobby knees draw together like Richie might make a mad dash for the clit in question. "Just do it, Rich," she says, quietly, like it's just them and Patrick's not looming next to them. "Please." She knows it's just Eddie trying to make the best of a bad situation, but for a second Richie can almost convince herself that, in the right circumstances, Eddie could be into this.</p><p>Jaw clenching, Richie takes the needle from Patrick, pointedly ignoring the almost palpable excitement thrumming from the other girl. She unfolds then, shifting carefully into a better position, so she can see well enough not to do any permanent damage. This whole experience is going to be fucked up enough, she doesn't need to leave Eddie with an actual physical reminder of how fucking depraved she is.</p><p>It feels even worse when she settles one denim-clad knee between Eddie's thighs, carefully nudging the burgundy skirt up with her leg so she doesn't kneel on it and accidentally pull it down. There's heat there, between Eddie's legs, seeping in through her jeans, and Eddie's nearly naked and Richie's fully clothed and she feels a sob work up in her body, stifles it down into her ribcage where it throbs and aches like she's been kicked. She inhales quietly as she leans over Eddie, meets her determined brown eyes for only a second before she refocuses on her left nipple.</p><p>"Do you—" Richie licks her lips, frowning. "Do you care which side?"</p><p>"Skip the foreplay, Tozier. Get this show on the road," Patrick snarks, and Richie's jaw clenches so hard she feels one of her teeth make an unsettling cracking sound. </p><p>Eddie squirms and fists her hand tightly into Richie's bedsheets. Something Richie has imagined before, sure, but in her head the circumstances had been a lot more heated. </p><p>Swallowing hard, Richie takes Eddie's breast in her hand. She cups around the bottom of it, last three fingers pressed against her ribcage so she can feel the rhythmic thumping of Eddie's heart underneath. She leans in close, to make sure her fucked up eyes can't screw this up, but her grip isn't steady enough. How the fuck is she supposed to pull this off?</p><p>She exhales hard, frustrated, and shifts her grip closer to Eddie's nipple. It's beaded tight against the pale cream of her skin, pink and begging for a tongue, and Richie can feel the tension radiating off Eddie underneath her. </p><p>"You have to hold it like this, you fucking baby." Patrick darts a hand between them to grab Eddie's nipple, to pull it up away from her body. </p><p>Richie reacts faster, knocking Patrick's hand away with more force than is probably wise, and spitting, "Don't fucking touch her." </p><p>Patrick looks surprised for a fraction of a second, before the expression melts into amusement. "No? Would you rather I talk to her, Trashmouth?" Patrick's voice is quiet, deceptively pleasant in the way Eddie's mom's gets when she's talking to Richie's parents. Dread settles into Richie's gut, panic slicing her veins open. "I could tell her about the time you—"</p><p>Richie cuts Patrick off the only way she can think to. She pierces Eddie's nipple.</p><p>The gasping squeak that escapes Eddie goes straight to Richie's clit. She blinks up at Eddie through her glasses, notes the pained paleness in her cheeks, and Eddie's staring wide-eyed down at her, breath coming quick and shallow. She means to ask if Eddie's okay, if it hurt badly, but Patrick grabs her by a fistful of hair and shoves her face down against Eddie's chest. "Don't just sit there, Tozier, kiss it better!"</p><p>At first she's too startled by the scent of Eddie's skin, coated with dried sweat from lacrosse practice, to do anything. But then she noses over to the fresh piercing and carefully, shakily, presses a dry peck there. Surely opening her mouth would make it more vulnerable to infection? But then the hand in her hair tightens, and Richie allows herself, just for that moment, to imagine it's Eddie's. That Eddie wants her to do it just as badly as Richie does. And she opens her mouth slowly, letting her breath seep into the bumpy flesh of Eddie's hard nipple. She hears a sigh and squeezes her eyes shut, salt burning against the backs of her eyelids, and laves her tongue over the newly-pierced bud. The point of the needle catches on her tongue, but doesn't break the skin. She wishes it had, that Eddie's blood would mix in her mouth with her own.</p><p>"Give her clit a lick while you're at it, Trashmouth." Richie jerks back, head whipping to stare at Patrick, gives a minute shake of her head. But Patrick just rolls her eyes. She's sitting back on her ass now, legs splayed, and is diddling with her clit one handed while she twirls her switchblade in the other. She meets Richie's eyes, but doesn't stop her movements. Just keeps flicking her fingers over her clit, cocks her head expectantly. Wiggles the switchblade.</p><p>Richie meets Eddie's eyes and finds the familiar brown glistening with emotion. What emotion, Richie can't discern. There's too much there, fighting it out behind long, thick eyelashes that make Richie want to cry. Eddie's jaw clenches, ticking out at the hinge, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't tell Richie it's okay, or urge her to stop. Richie can't tell how bad it is, just how much Eddie's going to hold this against her. But then fingers creep over the back of her hand, the one on the side nearest the wall, farthest from Patrick. Eddie's palm smooths over the back of Richie's hand, curls around the edge, and squeezes. With a shaky exhale, Richie pulls her hand away to shift back, push Eddie's skirt up over her hips—<i>fuck fuck fuck</i>—and duck her face between Eddie's thighs.</p><p>This is for Patrick, part of her sick game, and it's definitely a violation of some kind, but Richie presses in close to Eddie's cunt and inhales deeply. Eddie smells sweet and salty, and Richie moans before she can stop herself, only realizes it's audible when Patrick cackles with disdain. "You're so fucking desperate, Tozier. Put that trashmouth to use already."</p><p>She feels Eddie stiffen underneath her, but forces herself to get to work. If she hesitates, tries to stall, Patrick will get nasty, make it worse for Eddie. Even if Eddie doesn't want this, Richie can at least try to make it easy on her, maybe even vaguely enjoyable. She's not sure what to make of the shuddery breath Eddie releases when Richie bathes her clit, but chooses to take it as favourable.</p><p>Hesitantly, she lays a hand on Eddie's knee, urges it to the side so she can press in closer. She nudges in so close her glasses shove up uncomfortably on her nose, but doesn't stop. Her tongue flattens against Eddie's clit, rolling, and then delving lower to push between her folds, edge along the opening of Eddie's cunt. There's a whimper, and then Eddie's hips shift, lift against Richie's mouth, and Eddie's hand is reaching again. Richie meets her halfway, sliding her fingers under Eddie's searching hand, and Eddie clasps it tightly. Richie manages to hide their hands in a fold of bedsheets while, in a spur of elation, she pushes her tongue into Eddie's hole.</p><p>"That's it, get your tongue in there, Tozier," Patrick almost coos. Richie catches the jerking movements of her arm out of the corner of her eye, knows she has two fingers stuffed inside herself. Richie squeezes her eyes shut, tries to concentrate on Eddie and not the fact of Patrick getting off to the fact that Eddie doesn't want to be here. "You enjoying this, Kaspbrak? You like your little dyke friend eating you out?" Richie shudders, presses in closer, pulls Eddie's thigh up like it'll help her hide from Patrick's sadistic aquamarine eyes. She doesn't know how Eddie responds, can't bring herself to look, but it doesn't matter, because Patrick snaps a follow up: "Out loud, pipsqueak."</p><p>"Yes," Eddie whines and squeezes Richie's hand under the sheets. "I like it, it's so good, <i>fuck</i> Richie, your tongue." </p><p>Richie knows Eddie's just doing what she's told, trying to appease Patrick for safety's sake, but it doesn't stop her from filing those words away in her spank bank, or the subsequent guilt from lashing through her like the quick, punishing strike of a whip. She ignores it and keeps going, knows better than to stop until she's told, but then she hears a sharp yelp of pain. She jerks back, going cold at the thought that she might have inadvertently hurt Eddie.</p><p>It's not her, though. Patrick's pulling on the end of the needle in Eddie's nipple, flicking at it with her nails. The sight of it makes Richie's mouth go dry. "Did I say you could stop?" Patrick says, without looking her way. Another flick, and Eddie writhes. Richie's hand finds her hip of its own volition, giving a soothing squeeze. She's about to delve back in when Patrick speaks again, "Actually. I have a better idea."</p><p>That can't be fucking good.</p><p>"Spank her a little," Patrick continues, idly, like this is a totally normal thing to say, "with this." She reaches onto Richie's desk and comes back with the paddle hairbrush that Richie uses to fight her curls every morning after she showers. "Little Eddie's enjoying this a bit too much, I think."</p><p>Richie has no idea what expression her face makes as she takes her hairbrush in hand, but she can't imagine it's pleased. Eddie's eyes are wide and damp, but dark and... intrigued? There's something there that Richie can't bring herself to examine, and she distracts herself by starting to turn Eddie over, to get access to her ass.</p><p>"No, moron. Spank her pussy."</p><p>"What?" says Richie.</p><p>"Huh?" says Eddie.</p><p>"I'll do it my fucking self if I have to, you useless—" Patrick starts to reach for the hairbrush again, but Richie jerks it out of reach. Patrick would hit Eddie too hard, would hurt her, obviously, more than she'd need to. She'd get off on it.</p><p>"Sorry, Eds," Richie whispers, and smacks the flat of the brush down onto Eddie's damp, arousal-swollen folds. Eddie yelps. Her hips jerk up, her knees trying to draw together instinctively, but Patrick grabs the knee closest to her and pins it to the mattress. When Richie looks at the paddle of the brush, there's a wet smear across the matte black plastic. She glances back up at Eddie. "Okay?"</p><p>Eddie nods jerkily. "You should—um—" She glances at Patrick, frowns at the hungry, delighted look on her face, and then refocuses on Richie. "Put a pillow under my hips. So you've got a better angle."</p><p>"Right." Maybe it's weird that they're talking about this now, like this is a normal situation they find themselves in on weekends when left to their own devices, but Richie just crams a pillow under Eddie's hips as instructed, wondering if it'll smell like her later on, when Patrick and Eddie are both gone and Richie's left here with memories and a chest full of regret.</p><p>With another tentative glance at Patrick, Richie smacks the hairbrush down between Eddie's legs again. This time, Eddie's expecting it, so she doesn't scream—just squeaks, her hips jerking as her fingers ball into the pillowcase underneath her. It's... honestly, it's so hot that Richie's whole body goes fiery with it. All the moisture in her mouth evaporates, and she focuses on the reddened, damp and bruising flesh between Eddie's thighs, delves down to lick over it before she can stop herself. <i>Fuck</i>, Eddie tastes so good, and looks so good, and <i>sounds</i> so good, and Richie's never going to be able to forget this. The monstrous part of her is growing less and less sure she'll even be able to <i>re</i>gret it, in spite of the circumstances, in spite of how this will surely go down in history as one of the worst experiences of Eddie's life.</p><p>"Hit her on the clit." Patrick's instruction barely filters into Richie's brain before she complies, the paddle slapping down onto the most sensitive part of Eddie's body, and Eddie <i>shrieks</i>, writhes, and Richie <i>aches</i>. </p><p>Her free hand finds Eddie's leg, palm sliding to the inside of her thigh to nudge it aside. She spanks Eddie again, this time mercifully avoiding her clit, and Eddie <i>moans</i>.</p><p>Richie nearly creams in her pants.</p><p>"Jesus," she murmurs under her breath, and Patrick, paying far too much attention to Richie as per usual, smirks. She pulls the hand from between her own leg and settles her palm over Eddie's mound, thumb brushing almost idly over Eddie's clit. With her hand occupied, Patrick slinks up into Richie's space, gets close enough that Richie can feel breath rustling the hair that curls around her ear.</p><p>"Sexy, huh Tozier? I can see why you carry such a torch for her. She wants it too, wants to come, I can feel it. I can smell it." Richie shudders as the words sink into her skin, watches Patrick's thumb circle Eddie's clit and the way Eddie's hips shift with it. She hates that Patrick's touching Eddie, hates that it's making Eddie feel good, hates that it makes her own clit throb heatedly behind the rough denim seam of her jeans. "Fuck her with the hairbrush, Richie. You know you want to."</p><p>The worst part is Patrick's not wrong. Richie's eyes slide to the slick part of Eddie's lips, the glimpse of a silken hole there. She'd only gotten a taste of it on the tip of her tongue, but it had been so good, and she's had fantasies of sliding her fingers in here, dragging blunt nails along the walls of her cunt, pressing up, searching for the right spot that would make Eddie lose her mind, make her forget it's Richie, that Richie's a girl, that she's <i>dirty</i>.</p><p>But it's Eddie, and Eddie's a virgin. She deserves candles and moonlight and soft music. She deserves better than to lose her cherry to the handle of a dirty hairbrush.</p><p>Richie shakes her head. "No," she whispers.</p><p>Instantly, Patrick's whole demeanour changes. She grabs a handful of Richie's hair and yanks her head back, speaks low in her ear. "Should I do it, then?" She releases Richie abruptly, flips her switchblade over to hold the blade in her palm, and moves the handle end toward Eddie's spread legs. At the new tension in the room, Eddie jerks upright, though her thighs stay splayed. "Fuck her with my knife?" Eddie's face drains of blood, but Patrick's only got eyes for Richie, staring her down with cold, empty eyes. "I'll do it. I'll pop her sweet little cherry so she bleeds all over your bed and you can rub off on it later while you're sniffing the sheets, you desperate slut."</p><p>Eddie's eyes are shiny now, filling with terrified tears, and Richie yearns to smooth a hand through her hair, to tell her it's okay, that Richie won't let that happen. But the only way to avoid it is to—</p><p>"Richie, please." Eddie doesn't reach out, but it's obvious she wants to, only holds back because of the knife between her legs. "Just put it in me, please."</p><p>"Eds," Richie says brokenly.</p><p>"I want it, I swear," Eddie pleads, and Patrick snorts at her insistence, at the obvious lie. Eddie's tears are sticking to her eyelashes, making them spikier, darker. "Please, Richie, I want you to fuck me, I need it, please, I—"</p><p>"<i>Okay</i>. Okay, Eddie. It's okay." It's not, but Eddie's begging and Richie can do this for her, can save her from the worst of it. Richie glances at Patrick as she draws her switchblade back, oozing self-satisfaction, and when long, thin, threatening fingers delve back between her thighs, refocuses on Eddie.</p><p>Eddie's hips are still propped up on her pillow, offering her up like a delicacy for the tasting. Richie ducks back down, gives a long, thorough lick up between Eddie's folds in the hope of salvaging some of the arousal lost when Patrick opened her mouth.</p><p>And to think, turning people off by talking is usually Richie's job.</p><p>The taste of Eddie coating her tongue is oddly rejuvenating, and Richie lingers at the apex of Eddie's cunt, tonguing around her clit as she brings the handle of the hairbrush up between Eddie's thighs. Eddie's breath catches audibly at the first hint of the cool plastic brushing her damp hole, and the sound of it thrills through Richie. She sucks Eddie's clit between her lips as she starts to ease the handle into her, and Eddie's hips shift subtly, seeking contact. Richie's free hand comes up to hold her hip, keep her pressed down into the pillow. She doesn't want Eddie to hurt herself, to take too much at once, not when her mom won't even let her use tampons.</p><p>To her surprise, when she's got about an inch of the brush handle into her, Eddie sighs, reaches up and starts fiddling with her nipple. Not the pierced one, that one's probably too sensitive, but her fingers start to pluck and tweak at the other, like this is something Eddie might actually want, might enjoy enough to get off. Patrick grunts her approval on the floor, and then there's a rustle of movement as she stands. Eddie barely notices, too wrapped up in the handle steadily fucking into her. Even Richie's distracted enough by the taste of Eddie's fluid in her mouth to realize what Patrick's doing.</p><p>Patrick settles onto the mattress behind Richie, leans over her crouched body. She can feel the warm line of her pressed all along her back as she pushes another inch of handle into Eddie, lips at her clit. It's an unwelcome distraction from the slow, careful resistance of Eddie's body. Richie tries to focus on the sounds Eddie makes, the way her body moves, how she tastes, and mostly succeeds as she finally plants the brush fully inside of her, right up to the swell of the paddle. Eddie moans her relief as Patrick's arms reach around Richie's body to unbutton her jeans.</p><p>Patrick's not gentle as she shoves Richie's pants and cotton underwear down around her thighs. Her body jerks with it, but Richie stays stubbornly in place between Eddie's thighs. Now that she's made it all the way into Eddie without any screams of pain or pleas to stop, she can start to fuck her in earnest. That's what she wants to focus on, even if this memory is going to be tainted by Patrick's presence and the circumstances as a whole. She wants to be able to remember making Eddie feel good.</p><p>But Patrick doesn't usually do this. It's only happened twice so far that Richie can remember, that Patrick has bothered getting Richie's pants down, even acknowledging that Richie has anything between her legs. Maybe it's Eddie's presence that's doing it (a thought that Richie finds sincerely upsetting), but Patrick seems uncharacteristically interested in Richie's cunt. Fingertips draw down the crack of her exposed ass to meander over the curve of her pussy, thumb slicking between her lips to press over her opening and dip in. </p><p>For a second, Richie's eyes close with the sensation, and her movements still. Distraction wasn't part of the deal—not that Richie's had any part in setting the terms to begin with. Two blunt fingers push into her, too fast to be comfortable, and she rocks forward into Eddie with the force of it, grunts into Eddie's clit. She pulls the brush handle almost all the way out and then slides it back home, friction soothed by Eddie's sweet slickness. Eddie's hand delves into Richie's hair, and Richie shudders with the sensation. Eddie's hands are smaller, more delicate that Patrick's, and infinitely more gentle—encouraging, not punishing. It feels so sweet that Richie could almost cry, almost sob right into Eddie's cunt—but then something new presses against her hole, not fingers. Still blunt, but hard and cold and a little sharp.</p><p>The handle of the switchblade fucks into Richie, picking up the same rhythm as the hairbrush fucking Eddie right from the start. Richie squeezes her eyes shut as the realization slices through her like the knife itself, feeling something cold and uncomfortable settle into the core of her. She keeps fucking Eddie, but the shameful elation she'd felt at making Eddie feel good is tamped down by the knowledge that Eddie can see this, might very well have her eyes open, could be watching right now as Patrick fucks her with a weapon, while Richie <i>enjoys</i> it. Because she does. She <i>is</i>. It's gross and disgusting and she hates it, but the movement of the knife handle in her cunt makes her squirm and moan against Eddie's clit, pant like the desperate whore she is.</p><p>Mrs. K has always insisted that Richie is a dirty, disgusting girl, and for seventeen years Richie has been able to keep Eddie from seeing the truth of it. How can she deny it now?</p><p>Dimly, she's aware of Patrick murmuring to her, harsh insults mixed with brutal praises, just low enough that Eddie might not be able to make them out, if she's lucky. But she gets lost in the pleasure and shame of it all, fucking Eddie, taking advantage of the fact that she'd stumbled into Richie's bedroom on the wrong day of the week and a sadist with a switchblade had forced her to strip. She wants to be better than this, better than someone who would find anything pleasurable about this situation, but she's not. So she just fucks Eddie and bucks her hips into a knife handle, and eagerly catches Eddie's juice on her tongue when Eddie comes.</p><p>When the shudders wrack Eddie's body and she goes tense under Richie's mouth, her fingers tighten in Richie's hair. It feels almost like she's wound Richie's curls right around her fingers, pressing the pads of those fingers against Richie's scalp and massaging gently, like Richie deserves some kind of reward for what she's done. And it's that, combined with the breathy exhale of Richie's name from Eddie's lips, that pushes Richie over the edge. She pulls the brush from between Eddie's legs, buries her tongue as deep in Eddie's cunt as she can get, and rides out her orgasm between Eddie's thighs, while Patrick viciously fucks into her, echoes of <i>desperate dyke</i> ringing in her ears.</p><p>When it's done and both Richie and Eddie are breathless and sweat-damp, Patrick pushes Richie over onto her back and stuffs the handle of the knife into her mouth. Richie cleans it off mechanically, Eddie's eyes burning a hole in her skull. After it's sufficiently bathed, Patrick dries it on Richie's button-up.</p><p>"Well, that was a blast and a half," Patrick says, monotone, as she pulls her pants back on. Her discarded tampon is still on the floor somewhere, but if she remembers she doesn't seem to give a shit. Richie pulls her pants back up and then does her best to pass Eddie her clothing without actually meeting her eyes, or looking at her body, or even in her general direction. Patrick stuffs her knife back in her pocket, shakes a cigarette out of a crushed pack she materialized from nowhere. "I'll be seeing you, Tozier," she promises darkly. And then, with a smirk that Richie finds deeply worrying, she looks to Eddie. "Maybe I'll see you around, too, eh, Eds?"</p><p><i>Don't call her that</i>, Richie wants to snap. But really, how can she? How does she have the right, after everything that's happened?</p><p>Eddie looks to her, and then to Patrick, and then grabs her bag and shuts herself up in the Tozier's bathroom.</p><p>"You leave her alone," Richie says as Patrick slides open her bedroom window. She never comes in through the front door like an actual fucking person. Patrick looks back at her and cocks an eyebrow curiously, like she's a little surprised Richie's even bothering. Like Richie's too pathetic to be considered a real threat. "You want to toy with me, fine. You want to hurt me, fine. But this doesn't involve Eddie. Not ever again." Even to her own ears, Richie's voice sounds sort of dead, not nearly as menacing as she'd like. Hollow. Like Richie. </p><p>Still, Patrick looks at her consideringly. It's more than the scoff and offhand threat that Richie had expected. "Really? But you liked it so much." There's a familiar mocking lilt to her voice, but Richie doesn't take the bait, doesn't respond at all. Patrick rolls her eyes; her favourite toy has suddenly become less fun. "Whatever. No promises."</p><p>She drops out the window then, disappears quickly behind the neighbour's privacy fence.</p><p>From across the hall, Richie can hear the shower running. Eddie rinsing off the evidence that Richie ever touched her. Probably tending to the puncture wound in her nipple. God, how the fuck was Richie supposed to sit next to her in bio after this?</p><p>Who was she kidding? Eddie would probably transfer classes. Transfer <i>schools</i>.</p><p>Richie closes her bedroom door, turns off all the lights, and shuts her curtains.</p><p>When she leaves, Eddie doesn't say goodbye.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warnings: (In addition to the tags) Patrick has been coercing Richie into a sexual relationship for an undisclosed amount of time. Eddie stumbles across them and is threatened/coerced into joining. Richie feels shame and guilt for her desires and for getting Eddie involved, even if she's not responsible. Patrick threatens to spill Richie's secrets, and also threatens physical violence and sexual against both Eddie and Richie. Patrick uses the d-slur multiple times. Patrick puts her used tampon in Richie's mouth. Richie is slapped and cut with a knife enough to bleed. Both Eddie and Richie are described as being on the verge of tears at different points. Richie's feelings for Eddie are clear, and while it's hinted that Eddie has romantic feelings for Richie, it's not explicit and Richie doesn't notice. Richie feels hopeless and worthless, and deserving of abuse. Eddie's nipple is involuntarily pierced with a sewing needle. There are references to Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting. Both Richie and Eddie are underage (16/17ish). All orgasms experienced (except Patrick's) are largely unwanted. Ending is ambiguous and sort of depressing.</p><p> </p><p>Title from Natalia Kills — <i>Break You Hard.</i></p></blockquote></div></div>
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